


no pull or tug

by sunfuckedboy (earthshaker)



Series: just don't forget me [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mirror Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/pseuds/sunfuckedboy
Summary: The thing about Seokmin is that he rises to the bait all too easily, hook, line, sinker.By the time he realizes, he's been gutted, strung out to dry for everyone to see.Or what starts out as Minghao teaching him how to take selfies devolves, and maybe it's Minghao who wears his heart on his sleeve.





	no pull or tug

**Author's Note:**

> 1) my friend showed me those pictures of seokhao in the teen,age orange version and i freaked it. 2) school is so stressful i _need_ to freak it. 3) you can interpret this as the prequel to [chasing the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563902) if you wish, but both fics are pretty much standalone. 4) it's 3 am and i cannot believe i stayed up to finish this, and as such, am sorry it's unedited and in it's rawest form. update: i edited it AND added more porn. as always, thank you a for enabling me to claim i'm writing pwp when it's really just poorly disguised feelings porn. title from everything above - ravyn lenae.

Chile is hotter than Seoul this time of the year, and Seokmin’s glad that they don’t have to shoot outside, not today, at least. He ends up taking a few selfies during their short break from the album booklet shoot, trying his best to get the light right. It's too late to pretend he wasn’t taking pictures when he spots Minghao walking towards him. 

“We were shooting together and you’re not taking one with me?” Minghao says, quirking an eyebrow.

“I didn’t even take one with Jeonghan hyung,” Seokmin defends himself.

Minghao has both eyebrows raised now, humming thoughtfully. “Take one with me.” He all but demands.

Seokmin acquiesces, even if he’s still flustered from their shoot together earlier. _Naive,_ in Jeonghan’s words. _Easy to pushover,_ that’s what Joshua says. They take what feels like a hundred pictures together, Minghao making him change the angle and position of the camera multiple times. Between the two of them, Minghao's better at taking pictures, but as he keeps posing Seokmin keeps getting distracted, giggling at Minghao ever so often, Minghao shooting him fond but exasperated looks between their pauses.

They go through the pictures together, Minghao’s chin hooked over his shoulder like it’s nothing. Minghao does that sometimes, when Seokmin is least expecting it, just touches him, hugs him, clings to him. He doesn’t see himself as the kind of person that Minghao usually approaches for physical contact, but Minghao likes it and so he accommodates for it. Most of the time it involves making himself smaller so Minghao can envelop him, and when it does happen it’s… nice. He enjoys it.

“For such a handsome person, you suck at taking selfies, Seokmin-ah,” Minghao teases good-naturedly.

“It’s not like you’re _teaching_ me how to take them,” Seokmin complains.

Minghao hums contemplatively, eyes dragging over Seokmin in a way that has him hot under the collar. During the photoshoot earlier Minghao had casually hooked his leg over Seokmin, pulling his leg to spread them wider. The photographer had been all over it, praising them and calling it sexy but Seokmin -- well Seokmin _is_ just your average 20 year old, and even if he has better impulse control than Mingyu, Minghao’s actions had only given him a boner.

Seokmin’s good at staying professional. It’s just a bit harder when you’re sporting a boner in tight pants, and your skinny but strong bandmate is forcing your legs to spread wider. So he'd gone with the punches, kept his hands in front his crotch the whole time. He didn't look half as elegant as Minghao did, but they looked good together, better than the pictures where they’d just sitting next to each other. 

“I can teach you if you want,” Minghao offers.

Seokmin laughs nervously, scrolling through the photos they’ve taken to avoid meeting Minghao’s eyes. Most of the time, he’s not sure where he stands with Minghao. Doesn’t understand why Minghao’s nice to him, because Minghao is selective, and his loyalty, and by extension, his affections, are hard won. If he had to rank himself in order of importance to Minghao, he doesn’t see himself in the single digits. So having him offer something like this, something as simple as teaching Seokmin his selfie angles, something that takes time and patience, while it probably doesn’t mean much to Minghao, means a lot to Seokmin.

“Are you sure, Myungho-ya?”

“Ya,” Minghao prods his side, gets Seokmin to meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.”

And Seokmin, unsure, hesitant, always hesitant when it comes to Minghao, smiles, and murmurs a soft _okay_ that has Minghao grinning wide and unrestrained. Maybe he wants to see Minghao smile like that more often, wants to be the cause of it. That’s second nature to Seokmin, seeing what his bandmates like and filing it away so he can be what they like too.

They don’t talk about it for the rest of the shoot even when Seokmin’s out of his clothes and watching Minghao take his individual shots. He wants to have the same kind of awareness Minghao has of the camera, wants to come off looking — well Minghao looks sexy. And Seokmin wants that. Minghao has a way of carrying clothes that's almost effortless and combined with his awareness of his face, his body, there’s nothing that Minghao does that _doesn’t_ exude some degree of sexy. The stylists could put Minghao in a ripped up sweater and he’d probably find a way to make that sexy too. So maybe he wants Minghao too. Seokmin blushes and ducks away every time Minghao notices him and smirks at him, and this, this is new. Seokmin just pins it down to lingering arousal. It’s been a while since he’s had time to himself like that, and the weight of Minghao’s leg across his feels like a brand, hours later.

They don’t talk about it until after dinner when Minghao catches up with him and tells him to come to his hotel room later.

“Is Mingyu going to be there?” He asks. He doesn’t _want_ Mingyu there, even if Minghao and Mingyu come as a package these days.

He’d rather spend the rest of the trip rooming with Seungkwan than have _Mingyu_ say anything about his selfie-taking skills or lack thereof. Minghao gives him another one of those once-overs that make Seokmin feel like he should hide behind something.

“Of course not,” Minghao says, even as he wraps a hand around Seokmin’s wrist and tugs him in the direction of the hotel elevators. “It’s just you and me.”

Seokmin’s breath catches a little. _You and me._ That sounds nice — sounds like Seokmin and Minghao are two people who spend their time together, instead of things like this being isolated incidents.

In Minghao and Mingyu’s room, Minghao teaches him about good and bad angles, the benefits of mirror selfies, the importance of natural light, how mirrored pictures don’t give an accurate representation of what you look like. They take what feels like thousands of pictures, Seokmin blushing every time Minghao says something about showing off the angle of his cheekbones or the line of his jaw. It’s fun, and Minghao’s a good teacher, but Seokmin doesn’t want these pictures to see the light of day. Minghao heaves out a sigh at some point and Seokmin instinctively curls in on himself.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Minghao raises his eyebrows.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Minghao says, quickly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Seokmin doesn’t believe him but nods anyway. 

“The secret to being good at selfies,” Minghao says, as he pushes Seokmin towards the huge mirror across the room closet. “Is that spending time in the practice room helps a lot. _This_ is the closest we can get.”

Seokmin’s throat feels the slightest bit dry, and he’s not sure why. He’s so broad he blocks most of Minghao’s frame out, and Minghao himself is peering the slightest bit over his shoulder. It's weird seeing that physical difference, when in his mind's eye, Minghao is larger than life, fills the whole room with his charisma. 

“Take your shirt off,” Minghao says suddenly and Seokmin, surprised, complies immediately, pulling it off.

“Going to the gym is paying off, huh?” Minghao murmurs, grinning at Seokmin in the mirror.

Seokmin blushes and ducks his head, fidgeting. “Why did you ask me to take my shirt off?”

The question seems to snap Minghao back to their task at hand, and Minghao clears his throat.

“The problem,” Minghao begins, “Is that you don’t realize just how handsome you are. We could be rehearsing choreo, and you still look handsome.”

His tongue feels like it’s grown to twice his size and he can’t say anything around it.

“What you _need_ to know how handsome you are.” Minghao’s voice has taken a lower tone, and it’s almost… reverent. Fills Seokmin up with the same stirrings of arousal the way he’d casually hooked his leg over Seokmin’s did.

“You’re handsome here,” Minghao says, running his thumb along the high point of his cheekbone. “It’s why Soonyoung hyung makes you show your profile a lot.”

“Showing your profile also means you see the line of your nose.” The tip of Minghao’s index finger is feather light, but Seokmin still shivers anyways, Minghao’s gaze heavy when their eyes meet in the mirror.

“Keep your eyes open, Seokminnie.”

Seokmin nods, fixes his gaze on the hand Minghao is using to highlight his features. He feels exposed, gutted, strung out to dry, lips parting when the dry pads of Minghao’s fingers brush past his lips. For a brief, fleeting moment he wants Minghao’s fingers in his mouth.

“Your mouth is pretty, no matter what you’re doing. Even if you’re making too much noise,” Minghao chuckles, exhales. “Especially when you’re making too much noise.”

Two hands come to rest on his shoulders, Minghao’s thumbs rubbing into the tight muscle, Seokmin groaning in response. He’s not sure what Minghao’s getting at, but he can feel it build as arousal, taking over and sending liquid fire running through his veins.

“Your shoulders are so strong, so broad.”

And then his hands are dragging lower, dragging over Seokmin’s thighs and squeezing, Minghao murmuring appreciatively. Seokmin ducks his head, hiding from Minghao’s gaze.

“Myungho,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What do you want?”

Minghao’s hands keep running along Seokmin’s sides and the sensation is ticklish, but it’s also too much, not where he wants it. He can barely remember the last time he felt this aroused, building in his belly like fire in a dragon, Minghao’s touch the only way he can expel this fire.

“Touch me,” he pleads.

He feels the way Minghao’s breath hitches, the way he crowds in closer, hands now resting on his abdomen.

“I want you to open your eyes, look at the mirror, tell me everything you want.”

Seokmin’s heard Minghao’s voice cycle through all their tones, but he’s never heard it this low, never heard it promise things he can only dream of. Seokmin forces himself to blink his eyes open, meet Minghao’s eyes in his reflection. He’s not even thinking about the fact that Minghao’s still clothed, and he’s only in his jeans. He’s thinking about Minghao’s hands resting on his belly, how he gripped Seokmin’s thighs, of all the places his hands _could_ be, of the unspoken promises in Minghao’s voice, of how he oh-so-badly wants _anything_ Minghao wants to give him.

“I want you to touch me, please Myungho. Anything, anything.”

“You’re sure you want this?” Minghao asks, and for the first time, he sounds hesitant.

Seokmin feels embarrassed; Minghao probably didn’t mean for it to escalate and while Seokmin’s never hidden how he feels about men, Minghao’s more secretive. Seokmin’s not even sure Minghao _likes_ men.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he blurts out.

“I never do anything I don’t want to,” Minghao says it like it’s a promise, and it only adds to the fire.

“Okay,” Seokmin breathes out. “Okay. Okay.”

His head falls back onto Minghao’s shoulder when Minghao unbuttons his jeans and pushes his hand past the waistband of his underwear, whining when Minghao’s hand wraps around his cock.

“Relax,” Minghao laughs, and Seokmin tries, but it’s hard.

Minghao barely moves his hand, just keeps it there and the room is quiet save for their breathing. 

"Please," Seokmin pleads, and Minghao huffs against his shoulder, pushing his pants and underwear down to his thighs. 

Seokmin sighs out when Minghao brings his hand to Seokmin's mouth, Seokmin instinctively licking a stripe up Minghao's hand, parting his mouth when Minghao slips two fingers into his mouth and presses down on his tongue. He's so hard it hurts, and when Minghao wraps his hand around Seokmin's cock, hot and slick, he bucks forward into the touch. Each stroke of Minghao's hand is purposeful, Minghao's thumb running under the head of his cock, Seokmin whimpering. He feels hot all over, runs hotter when he sees how Minghao's staring hungrily at his hand around Seokmin's cock. 

“Would it be okay if I fucked you?”

Seokmin feels all the blood rush from his head; he was expecting a handjob but if Minghao wants to fuck him then--

“Yes,” he gasps out and it’s a broken, desperate sound.

Over his shoulder, Minghao is not quite smirking, but he’s not quite smiling either. It’s devastating is what it is, devastatingly pretty, his just for the night, and Seokmin _wants_ but he doesn’t know what to say. Minghao moves him so he’s braced against the mirror, Seokmin whining half-heartedly when he leaves with a murmured instruction to stay put. Whatever he’s looking for, he finds, and then Minghao is behind him again, tugging Seokmin’s jeans and underwear all the way off, helping him step out of it, kissing his shoulder.

It’s more embarrassing to see Minghao still fully clothed behind him, but there's also a thrill to it that Minghao picks up on quickly.

“You’re so pretty, Minnie,” Minghao whispers, like the words are secret, sacred. “Want you to see yourself the way I do.”

There's the sound of Minghao's knees hitting the floor, muffled by the carpeting, and then Minghao's tongue is running up the back of his thigh. Seokmin groans, and he wishes Minghao was on his knees in front of him, not behind him, because all he wants to do is bury his hands in Minghao's hair and drag his mouth to where he wants it, where he needs it. In comparison, this is agony, Minghao's teeth nipping the back of his thighs before running his tongue over Seokmin's hole, Seokmin moaning. Minghao continues alternating between biting down on Seokmin's thighs and licking over his rim, occasionally pressing his tongue against it, but never penetrating him. If Seokmin were on a bed, he'd probably be writhing around. Like this though, standing up, pressed against the mirror, he has to keep himself up. 

When Minghao's had enough, he stands up, pressing himself against Seokmin's back. It's hard to ignore how hard Minghao is against his thigh, it's hard to ignore how hard _Seokmin_ is, buzzing with the need to come. Seokmin pants out Minghao's name when he hears the snap of the lube cap and then Minghao's fingers are running over him. Seokmin was expecting the lube to be cold, but it's warmed, and it fills him up with a fondness that feels misplaced in the heat of the moment. Minghao keeps his fingers there, almost penetrating him but not quite, the pressure driving Seokmin to rock back against his hand even as Minghao grips his waist to keep him in place. 

"Please," Seokmin whines, begs. Minghao makes Seokmin feel like the fire inside him will consume him if he doesn't fuck Seokmin.

When Minghao _finally_ pushes into him with one finger, it almost brings tears to his eyes. There’s no time to cry though, not when Minghao goes from one to two, scissoring them apart, mouthing at the knobs of Seokmin’s spine. There’s the cool glass against his forehead, the wet heat of Minghao’s mouth, the sticky slide of his fingers. Seokmin groans when Minghao fingers brush against his prostate, cries out when he finds it again and continues massaging it, Seokmin blabbering. Minghao adds another, keeps going until Seokmin’s legs are shaking, until he’s on the edging of coming, groaning when Minghao pulls his fingers out,

“You know what else is pretty about you?” Minghao’s busy rolling a condom onto his cock, Seokmin trying to catch his breath.

He shakes his head, whimpers when he feels Minghao’s cock catch on his hole, fucks into Seokmin with a smooth and slow slide.

“You’re fucking pretty when you make all this noise,” Minghao growls out.

“Myungho, please, please, please.”

Minghao’s grip on Seokmin’s hips is unforgiving, holding him in place, getting Seokmin accustomed to the stretch, preventing him from rocking back.

“You’re going to keep your eyes on the mirror,” Minghao says, pulling out and thrusting back in. “And if you stop looking, I stop fucking.”

Seokmin nods, and Minghao grins, fucking into Seokmin at a steady pace. It’s hard keeping his eyes trained on his reflection, on Minghao fucking into him, but every time Seokmin’s gaze drops, Minghao stops.

“C’mon Seokminnie, you can do this right?”

“Okay,” his voice sounds wrecked, and it’s not even like Minghao fucked his throat.

Minghao picks up the pace after that, continues praising Seokmin and telling Seokmin how pretty he looks, how good he is for Minghao, how he’s so, so good. His belly is smeared with precome, his legs ache from standing up for so long, he feels like he’s bubbling up, about to overflow. His eyes flutter shut, but Minghao doesn’t stop this time.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Minghao murmurs, and Seokmin whines. He can see how he’s flushed down his shoulders.

“Myungho,” Seokmin pants out, head tipped back against Minghao’s shoulder. “Myungho, _please_ , I’m so close.”

Minghao mouths at his throat almost absentmindedly, teeth scraping across the skin like he’s seconds away from biting down and leaving a mark. Then there’s Minghao’s hands, one of them in a bruising grip on Seokmin’s hips, the other one fluttering at the base of his throat. Seokmin’s had sex before but this? Sex with Minghao? Seokmin’s never had sex like this before.

Minghao ends up running his hand down Seokmin’s sternum, his abdomen, settling around his cock, Seokmin arching forward into the touch.

“Watch yourself, Seoku,” Minghao says, even as he strokes Seokmin off, his cock nailing Seokmin’s prostate every time.

Seokmin whines, glances at the mirror, meets Minghao’s eyes through the mirror. There’s an intensity in them that has Seokmin dripping more pre-cum; Minghao looks like he’s going to consume him, until all Seokmin knows is the benevolence of his touch, how it soothes. Above all, Seokmin wants it, wants Minghao to use him and consume him and leave behind the yearning for more.

Minghao’s thrusts are harder, sloppier even as his strokes around Seokmin’s cock are tighter, faster.

“You need to see how pretty you look baby,” Minghao mumbles. “You could send any man to their knees.”

“You’re so pretty when you’re like this Seokmin-ah, but only I get to see it right? You’re my good boy, right?”

It feels like Seokmin’s awareness has been reduced to the points where they’re in contact, that, and hanging onto every word that drips out of Minghao’s mouth. He’s not even sure where Minghao learned to speak like that but it doesn’t matter, not really. He nods wordlessly, panting.

“Myungho,” Seokmin sobs out, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Are you close?” Minghao asks.

If Seokmin were more coherent, he’d snap at Minghao for asking such a question. As it stands, Minghao’s fucked the ability to string words together out of him, so he just nods, eyes fluttering shut, arms braced against the mirror. He’s worried it might crack under their weight, but the need to come outweighs the possible consequences.

“I want you to watch yourself when you come, baby, will you do that for me?”

It’s the pet name that gets to Seokmin, leaning his head back against Minghao’s shoulder, staring at himself, almost admiring the way he looks in the mirror. His skin is glistening from sweat, and golden where the light hits it, his cheeks flushed and lips kiss swollen, Minghao’s hand tight and slick around his cock. For a moment, he believes Minghao, believes he’s pretty, believes he’s deserving.

When he finally comes it’s because he meets Minghao gaze in the mirror and the raw hunger in his eyes has Seokmin unraveling fast, moaning Minghao’s name like a mantra, like it’s his penance. He sees white, sees stars, sees Minghao in the midst of it all, comes all over Minghao’s hand and the mirror, Minghao pushing him against the glass and fucking into Seokmin until he comes too. He keeps fucking them through their orgasm, only stops when Seokmin whines from oversensitivity, pulling out and making Seokmin wish they’d done this without a condom. It’s stupid, but it’s also the only way Minghao could’ve left a mark.

Seokmin doesn’t say anything about the way Minghao wipes him clean, or the way his lips brush against the nape of his neck. Minghao touches him like he’s doing it for the first and last time, and it sets him alight. It makes him want to shrink himself down and disappear, but also ask Minghao if he could do it again. And again, and again. If Minghao does it enough maybe Seokmin could believe Minghao likes him -- as a friend, as _anything,_ really.

“I should probably head back to my room.”

“Oh.” Minghao takes a seat on the edge of the bed, blinking owlishly. His expression is one of casual disinterest, but Seokmin knows him well enough to know he’s annoyed about something, and that has him scrambling to get into his clothes.

Minghao’s almost painfully quiet, and something about it aches. Something about the fact that tomorrow they’re going to go back to pretending nothing happened sits wrong and heavy on Seokmin’s chest.

“It’s okay if you didn’t mean the stuff you said,” Seokmin says nervously, biting on his lower lip.

Minghao’s head immediately jerks up from his phone and he’s frowning, and shit, Seokmin’s made him upset.

“What do you mean?” Minghao’s frown is deepening, and he’s set his phone aside.

“When you, ah, this is so embarrassing,” Seokmin’s pretty sure his whole face is flushed now. “When you called me pretty, and stuff. It’s okay if you didn’t mean it.”

He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, and suddenly the hotel room feels too small, the knowledge of what they did filling Seokmin up with regret and shame. It was foolish and stupid and he’s dashed all hopes of Minghao and him moving past casual acquaintances and they’re going to stay in this weird limbo of knowing-but-not-knowing until they disband. And here Seokmin is, putting out because he thinks Minghao will like him better for it.

Minghao moves to stand in front of him, his hands hovering like he’s not sure where to put them.

“You do know I did that because I wanted to, right?” Minghao sounds confused and Seokmin feels like he's missing something.

“You wanted to?” Seokmin repeats.

Minghao exhales heavily, blowing at his bangs. “I wanted to fuck you. And kiss you. And call you pretty.”

“We’re just friends,” Seokmin mumbles. “It’s really okay if you didn’t mean it.”

“Do you usually fuck your friends?”

“I mean, Soonyoung and I have fucked. A long time ago though.” Seokmin offers, Minghao spluttering at his response.

Minghao pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “That was a bad question.”

“I meant what I said, you know?”

“And I meant what I said too,” Minghao says, and he sounds frustrated now, running a hand through his hair. “I did Seokmin, I think you’re handsome and kind and I--”

Minghao cuts himself off, flushing a deep red, avoiding looking at Seokmin.

“And what, Myungho?” Seokmin’s curious now. He wants to run away, but he’s also curious because it’s rare to see Minghao worked up like this.

“I wanna protect you,” Minghao mumbles out, cheeks red. “I wanna be the one who gets to do this.”

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Minghao says hesitantly, finally meeting Seokmin’s eyes, the look in them the same as when Minghao’s learning new choreography, when he’s composing his own songs, when he’s painting, when he’s looking at Junhui or Mingyu or Soonyoung, when he has his sights set on something bigger than him, determined, focused. “I didn’t think you wanted me though.”

“You… want me?” Seokmin parrots back.

Minghao huffs again and Seokmin reaches out for Minghao’s hands, rubbing circles into the back of them.

“I’m sorry I’m upsetting you,” Seokmin says.

Minghao makes a sound that ends up getting choked off, yanking his hands out of Seokmin’s grasp and before Seokmin can feel hurt about it, Minghao has one hand cupping his face, the other on his waist, leaning in to kiss Seokmin.

Seokmin’s too surprised to pull away — the kiss is chaste and gentle, tender almost, shy definitely. Minghao's kissing him like Seokmin will break, like he didn't push him against a mirror earlier and blow his mind out. Minghao hesitates, stepping back but Seokmin just steps forward, resumes kissing Minghao, sighing into his mouth when Minghao’s tongue runs along his bottom lip.

“You don’t upset me,” Minghao says when they finally pull apart. “I just like you more than I should.”

The confession makes Seokmin feel like he’s being pulled apart on a molecular level _and_ compressed from directions at the same time. He wants to be Minghao’s friend, and he wants Minghao to like him, and he wants to be a cause for Minghao’s happiness. He wants all of it, and it still feels like he doesn’t deserve this. Like someone is going to jump out from some corner and yell surprise. 

“Stay with me tonight?” Minghao asks, when he doesn’t say anything, and it’s not the first time the whole night that Seokmin’s caught a glimpse at a person who isn’t as cool and collected as Seokmin perceives him to be.

Minghao sounds… hesitant. Honest. Like he’s offering something that he can’t take back, and really, there’s no way to take _anything_ about tonight back. More importantly, there’s a fire in his eyes that Seokmin recognizes, because even if you don’t know Xu Minghao well, Xu Minghao makes sure you know of him.

“What about Mingyu?” Seokmin asks tentatively.

Minghao snorts.

“He won’t be a problem. Will you stay with me tonight?”

Seokmin answers by pulling his pants off; left feeling even more naked than he did when he _was_ naked. Minghao grins, pulling his own shirt off, walking Seokmin backward until his knees hit the bed, going down, pulling Minghao on top of him. Minghao giggles, and it’s not at him, it’s with him, it’s never been _at_ him and all of this is overwhelming in all the right ways.

If you asked Seokmin to rank himself in terms of importance to Minghao, it turns out he might not be in the double digits after all.

  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm just a cat (author) looking for pats (kudos and comments). and I recently made a [public twt](https://twitter.com/junseokhao) if you’d like to say hi there instead.


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